


The black hearses of my dreams

by noclue_noidea



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 18:32:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1438432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noclue_noidea/pseuds/noclue_noidea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will meditates on what he'll do, once he's free. Post-Futamono.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The black hearses of my dreams

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first fic. English is not my first language, so if you see anything really weird, or any mistake of any kind, please tell me. No need to be delicate!
> 
> Title from a translation by William Aggeler of a poem by Charles Baudelaire: "Horreur sympathique" ("Reflected horror"). It suits Hannibal quite well.

In his cell, Will waits for his deliverance.

They told him he will be free, that the Ripper left proof of his innocence over, under and through his latest victim’s skin. They told him he will be free, today. The charges are all dropped. Who would convict him now that the world’s most elusive monster has claimed his truth like one claims a new land?

Will wants to laugh, cry, and scream. The only things that come out of him, though, are the black daggers expanding from his back. He can also feel them, in his lungs, burning his flesh with oily poison. The cage will be opened, but that is far too late. Whatever will get out now, is not the same creature that entered.

Will they see it, that difference, that corruption? Oh, not the humans, he’s used to them not seeing anything important by now. He’s thinking of his dogs. When he left them, Winston was looking at him with the biggest eyes, asking questions left unanswered. What sort of answer will he get now? Will he feel the rotting inside? Will any of them innocent creatures recoil from a bigger, nastier predator?

He hopes they will not. They are the only ones he can trust. He forgets the dull confines of the cell and thinks of laughing barks and soft paws and wildly wagging tails. A bit of sun enters his mood.

He scoffs aloud, alone. If only there were only dogs.

He has to think about it, so he does. All the people he’ll have to deal with, outside.

Chilton won’t be able to monitor his conversations, now. Will doubts he’ll be interested anyway. He doesn’t visit as often as before, and when he does, he’s pale and skittish, eyes darting, like a feverish rodent. _Just realized your cage has expanded around you, is that right, doctor? I might get out, but you’re still in. Now who will be the one being poked at, I wonder?_

He has to give it to the good doctor: he’s more clever than he thought. Not by much, though – not near enough.

He’ll have to face Jack. No restraints then, no mask, no gun pointed at him. Still wary, how could he not be? But he’ll throw trust and hope at him like a good master trying to reconcile his bloodhound with his work. _Here, have a treat. Yes, that’s evidence, see what you can make of it. Help me see those things I don’t want to see._ And he’s trying, he’s trying so hard, despite the smoke in his eyes. Will doesn’t know yet if he’ll want to be Jack’s light or if he’ll try to leave him in the dark and hope he finds use of his other senses.

Don’t think about Beverly. Think about Beverly.

The circle of people he’ll have to wade through is getting smaller. Gideon’s disappeared; probably being served somewhere. No news given about Brown; he’ll need to get in touch. The blonde psychiatrist with the haunted eyes; she’s gone too, after breathing new life in him. He’s breathed Abigail enough; he won’t look that way again. Alana…

Definitely _don’t_ think about Alana. Beautiful eyes, tender soul. Leave her alone, hope _he_ will do the same.

Darkened eyes, toxic soul. But now Will knows, he is prepared to never take his eyes away from the fangs hidden in that seductive mouth. He will fixate that ardent passion on Will’s growing antlers, parade in his new cloven hoofs, dull the monster’s sight with blackened fire.

Then he’ll sink his teeth in Hannibal’s throat and break his jaws with wrath.

(He ignores the little voice in his mind telling him: it’s exactly what the snake desires.)


End file.
